


The Natural Order of Things

by vinegardog



Category: Farscape
Genre: F/M, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 22:25:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8178352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vinegardog/pseuds/vinegardog
Summary: How things might have gone if John Crichton had never become an astronaut





	

Written for SC83 - A Butterfly Flaps Its Wings - What if Jack Crichton had died on the Challenger?    
  
Since I failed to enter the previous (my own!) SC82 about a non-canon ship, I have decided to amalgamate the two challenges into one fic.  I really don’t like this non-canon ship, but you are getting it anyway!   
  
Rated PG  
  
Word Count: approximately 3000  
  
The characters are not mine.  
  
Note: This version of things was mainly inspired by the fact that I found John’s following statement to say the least a tad arrogant!   
  
_John: My father got me started in avionics. No Dad, no Farscape Project. You stay in Peacekeeper custody. (gesturing at Aeryn) She remains a Nazi. (gesturing at Chiana) She ends up on Nebari Prime._  
  
Thanks to A Damned Scientist for the beta read and the challenge! Nowadays very few prompts inspire me any more (even my own) but this one got the wheels turning again.   
  
**The Natural Order of Things (PG)**  
  
Nothing had turned out the way she had expected.  Not even close to it.   
  
Service, promotion, retirement, death.  That was her destiny, or so she had believed.  When she had boldly flown her Prowler into the escaping Leviathan Moya’s startburst stream in a desperate attempt to keep close track of the large ship, her intention had been to impress her superior officers, maybe catch the eye again – after the Velorek episode – of Captain Bialar Crais, or die trying.  To be promoted to squadron leader, one of the youngest of the fleet - that had been her aim.  But nothing had turned out even remotely close to her expectations.  
  
This had not been in her plans.  This had not even been a scenario that she could have dreamed up during one of her worst nightmares when lying tired and sore after brutal field training exercises in her bunk in the communal dormitory of the Command Carrier.  
  
Ex-Peacekeeper prowler pilot Aeryn Sun, still wide awake in the middle of the night cycle, turned on her side in the semi-darkness of the bedroom that had once been a prison cell, laid her hand under her cheek to cushion her head and let her eyes linger on the man lying by her side.  He was sprawled on his back, deep slumber smoothing out his features.  A low rumble that was not exactly snoring but close enough to it to make no difference, came from his semi-parted lips  - audio evidence of badly needed rest after a long day of making decisions and plans with Pilot followed by long, completely satisfying recreation with his woman.   
  
His woman.  Aeryn still could not wrap her mind around that description of herself, and yet that she was: His woman.  It felt good to think it.  Irreversible contamination could not even begin to describe what this was.  Her ex-comrades would have been horrified, disgusted. They would have pitied her. They would have shot her - just as they would have done if she had contracted the Living Death - for her sake, to put her out of her misery.  
  
The ghost of a smile softened her features.  She was the one who felt sorry for them.  They would never know this feeling of contentedness, of freedom, of rebellious joy that pervaded her body every time she looked at this alien whom fate had chosen as her life-long mate.    
  
He shifted in his sleep with a sudden snort and his arms spontaneously and subconsciously reached towards her and enclosed her in a bear hug that pressed her tight against his smooth chest.  She went with it, easily, happily.  Her eyes closed and she finally found herself slipping into contented sleep in D’Argo’s comforting, strong embrace.  
________  
   
Nothing had turned out the way he had expected.  Not even close to it.  
  
D’Argo stood at the main console on Moya’s command lost in thought: the blue planet they were approaching was becoming larger and larger in the main view screen as the distance to their destination diminished.  It looked pleasant.  He hoped it would soon become their home.  A safe base from which continue the search for his son, Jothee, but also a place where to settle with his second Sebacean wife, whom fate had brought to him in the most unexpected of manners; a place where they could safely welcome their baby, due to arrive in their lives any solar day now.  
  
His existence had truly been full of swings and roundabouts.  When he had lost the woman he thought would be the only love of his life, Lo’laan, and then shortly afterwards parted from their child to save his young life; when he had been thrown into captivity under false accusations of murder by Macton,  he had truly thought his life to be over.  He could have never imagined that a Hynerian – of all beings – would against all odds be his saviour.  Dominar Rygel XVI, also a prisoner on the transport ship Moya – she, who they now called home - had gained somehow the cell codes and escaped incarceration, in the process becoming the unwitting liberator of his Luxan and Delvian captivity mates.  
  
Their escape had been a narrow one.  By pure luck, ironically aided by one of his now rare attacks of hyper-rage, Moya had finally broken free of her control collar and had managed a starburst that had saved all of their lives:  Recapture would have meant immediate execution for all of them, of that there was no doubt.  
  
The Command Carrier under Crais’s leadership had called off the pursuit when the Leviathan had disappeared through space in a bright flash of interdimensional energy burst.  D’Argo could only imagine the anger and frustration Captain Crais must have felt at losing one of his prison ships and the three inmates on board but, on the other hand, he would have had to concede that they were not important enough for the fleet to engage in a pursuit deep into the possible dangers of the Uncharted Territories, where Moya had most likely taken refuge.  Their lives – and the life of the lone prowler pilot lost in the pursuit  - were too insignificant for Crais to waste more than an enraged thought or two upon beyond the short time taken to order the dispatch of a few “wanted” beacons. He had therefore swiftly moved on to more important missions that High Command were keen for him to complete.   
  
Crais would get his hand slapped, possibly get an official reprimand on his otherwise pristine record for the loss of the Leviathan and the Hynerian and Delvian prisoners but nothing more and this, D’Argo was certain, would turn out to be only a minor blip on the road to a brilliant commanding career in the Peacekeeper ranks.  
  
When the lone prowler that had followed them into starburst had been netted and brought aboard, he had been the most vocal in expressing the opinion that they should space the pilot, keep the craft and avoid possible complications at all costs.  Rygel had agreed, but Zhaan’s calm and compassion had prevailed in the end.  He owed his present happiness to the Delvian priestess: a debt that he would not soon forget.   
  
His last words to her a short monen ago when they had left her back in the Delvian system after four cycles of travelling together through uncharted space in search of a way to return to their respective homes avoiding Peacekeeper territories, had been a promise to always be at her service if she ever was to need him. He had also promised her that his home, wherever that might end up being, would also be her home away from home.  He would miss her more than he ever thought possible but her destiny was back with her own people, leading them to freedom – he knew and respected that and wished her success and happiness.   
  
He heard the slightly heavier than normal steps of his heavily pregnant woman and turned to welcome her, a look of love and pride lighting his face: “We have almost arrived, my love.  We’ll soon be in orbit.  Rygel is sending the Royal flagship to meet us and escort us the rest of the way.”  
  
Aeryn smiled and took her customary place by his side, anticipating the feeling of belonging that his cradling arm always gave her.   
  
“Any news from Zhaan?” She enquired, disquiet and worry for their friend tingeing her voice.  
  
“No, no news.  Maybe Rygel will have tidings of her to give us. Good ones.” D’Argo leaned down and placed a reassuring kiss on Aeryn’s forehead.  “She will be fine.  She is strong and driven. I am not worried about her.”  
  
Aeryn just nodded and buried her face into her husband neck inhaling his strong Luxan scent, absorbing his calm and certainty and feeling comforted.  
  
It had taken almost a cycle for her to even be able to be in the same room as D’Argo.  She had been raised to despise Luxans for their quick tempers, perceived mental inferiority and disorganised style of war.  Peacekeepers used to make fun of their lack of strategy and their inability to properly follow their superiors’ orders in the heat of combat.  She also knew that he was the one who had advocated her termination when she had first been captured – not that she could blame him for that, she would have done exactly the same – but he had also been the one who had thwarted her attempts at escape over and over again, until she knew that her return to her ranks would no longer be possible.  Irreversible contamination was just that, irreversible and she had spent by then already too long in the company of aliens for the Peacekeepers to ever welcome her back.  She had therefore found herself alone, with no home to go back to and no future.  
  
Time had passed and she had found herself more and more involved with the general running of the ship and with the strange beings with whom she had been forced to settle and cohabitate.  
  
They had been careful to avoid Peacekeeper space and the Peacekeeper patrols that sometimes ventured into the UTs.  They had survived by offering their services as cargo operators and had become adept at avoiding trouble when at all possible.  Which was not always the case.  
  
Along the way, they had picked up a Nebari waif, saved her from a life of submission and obedience to her own controlling people.  They had intended to drop her off and bid her goodbye at the very first safe chance but Zhaan had somehow taken her under her protective wing and impish, endearing Chiana had ended up staying with them, becoming an extra member of the motley crew.  
  
Aeryn could not remember exactly when or how she had one day looked at her crewmates and seen not hated aliens but comrades.  She could not remember when or how she had one day looked at her comrades and thought of them as friends.  And she definitely could not pinpoint the day that she had looked at her friends and thought of them as family.   But that, with time, they had nevertheless become.  
  
As for D’Argo,  she did remember the night they had finally come together.  There had been plenty of food eaten and plenty of fellip nectar imbibed after a particularly good day when they had received payment for several cargo runs they had completed successfully on behalf of a large commercial enterprise with branches on several planets scattered in a large local star system.   
  
Chiana had prepared a feast and, for once, they had treated themselves to the best fellip nectar currency could buy.  There had been laughter and jokes: even Rygel had showed his most benign and puckish side and entertained them with wild stories of his Dominar cycles.  Slowly, one by one, as the arns ticked by,  Zhaan, Rygel and Chiana had called it a night and retired to their quarters in various states of inebriation until only D’Argo and Aeryn – the two hardy warriors – had been left still standing, or rather sitting, determined not to waste a drop of the leftover alcohol.  
  
They had exchanged stories of their battle campaigns, compared scars and boasted about enemy kills and then D’Argo, shyly and unexpectedly, had asked her if she would like to listen to a song he had composed for her.  She had nodded her assent, her brain a little fuzzy from alcohol and surprise.  
  
Accompanied by his sheelquin, D’Argo had sung to her.  The music was not what she was used to – the Luxan tunes were not pleasant to her Sebacean ears.  But that hadn’t mattered, not for long.  She had listened to the words and she had soon forgotten about the discordant harmonies of the music.  The words spoke of genuine feelings: of how a man who had thought his chance at love to be over forever, now knew that his heart could beat for another woman, a new mate.  The words spoke of how a Sebacean had taken a chance on him a long time ago and how she had made him the happiest of men.  Of how another could now bring him the same joy again.  Of how he would endeavour to spend the rest of his life trying to make her feel how he did.  Of how he would fight and die for her.   
  
The song had come to an end and silence had followed.  They were sitting side by side on a bench in Central Chamber and when D’Argo had slowly and tentatively leaned towards her and rested his forehead on her shoulder, uncertain, afraid of rejection, it had all been too easy to dip her head towards him, lift his chin and kiss him gently on the lips.  
  
“So, are we there yet?” Chiana’s question coming from the hatchway interrupted Aeryn’s reminiscences.   
  
“Yes.  We are entering orbit now Chiana.” D’Argo answered. “Are you ladies packed and ready to board the pod?”  
  
“I never thought I would say this but I missed the little toad.” Chiana said in wonderment, referring to Rygel.  “But now that he is Dominar of six hundred billion Hynerians again, I intend keeping close to him and… and letting him buy me the best of the best of everything!” The special brand of naughty and innocent laughter that followed from her made both D’Argo and Aeryn smile with indulgence.  Chiana then half glided and half bounced out of the room ready to board one of the pods and start a new lifetime of adventures on Hyneria.  
  
“Pilot, we are about to disembark.  The skies are safe here for you and Moya.  We will be on comms at all times and we will stay in touch.  As soon as the baby is born, D’Argo and I will come back.  We have accepted Rygel’s offer to make Hyneria our planetary home but Moya is still our true one.  I want you both to know that.” Aeryn meant every single word of what she had just said.  
  
“Thank you, Aeryn.  We do know.  We will be here, waiting for your return.  Moya and I wish you luck with the birth.” Pilot inclined his head in gentle farewell and disappeared from the clamshell.  
  
“Ready?” D’Argo smiled down at her and squeezed her hand.  
  
“Ready.” Aeryn smiled her brilliant smile up at him and they headed together out of Command.  
  
They didn’t know it then but the Hynerian Empire, menacingly strong in its neutrality thanks to its size and the sheer number of its inhabitants, would prove to be their safe haven throughout the long cycles of the Peacekeeper/Scarran conflict looming ahead.  A calm island of peace and happiness in a sea of galactic suffering and strife.  
_____________  
  
On a planet far removed on the galaxy’s outer spiral, John Crichton sat at an outdoor table at one of the Stanford University coffee-houses and shared news with his lifelong friend, DK Knox, who had come to visit for the weekend.  
  
“You know, John, we could really do with somebody like you at IASA.  You just need to say the word and you are in.  The Astronaut Program’d be lucky to have you!” DK offered for the millionth time since John had made the decision not to pursue his childhood dream to go into space.  
  
“Nah.  You know I made a promise and a promise is a promise, DK.  Teaching Physics and Cosmology ain’t too shabby, man.  I enjoy it and I get to get home to Alex every night.  What’s not to like about that?” John replied deflecting for the millionth time his friend’s offer.  
  
“Your Mom is gone, John. It’s been five years now.  Doesn’t that finally release you from your promise not to follow in your father’s footsteps?” DK knew that this was the equivalent of beating a dead horse and that John Crichton would stay true to his word and never fly on anything more than a regular airline carrier, but he felt that he had to at least try.   To see his friend settle for less than what he could have accomplished;  to give up his dream to break orbit in a module of their own design to prove the validity of the “slingshot manoeuvre” they had theorized with such passion and enthusiasm, broke his heart.  John had always been the go-getter, the fearless one and although more than respectable, a settled academic life just felt like an utter waste of his talents.  
  
John Crichton’s sky blue eyes stared blankly into the distance over DK’s shoulder, his fingers fiddled with the coffee cup and a bitter-sweet smile slightly creased his lips.  DK’s entreaties made him wish for things he had tried firmly to leave behind; dreams he had carefully folded and put away like old sweaters in a drawer.  The promise he had made to his mother had not been made lightly.  He had agonised over it. But in good conscience, having seen what the manner of his father’s death had done to her, how utterly devastated it had left her, he could not – would not - put her through the same anguish of seeing him go off on risky space missions that might end as tragically as his father’s had.  So the promise had been made and would be kept because even though Leslie was beyond worrying about him, Alex now deserved the same regard.  
  
He finally shook his head and with a touch of melancholy that he failed to hide despite his best efforts to do so, he told his old friend and himself out loud the sad untruth that would allow him to go back to his humdrum life: “I’m happy, DK.  My life is just as it should be.”  
____________  
  
In a different part of the galaxy somewhere in the heart of the Uncharted Territories, in a vast medical facility on an Ice Planet, a frozen female Interion body lay in a cryo-pod, forgotten in a corner of the cavernous storage room.  It was destined to stay that way until some cycles later, during the war, a Scarran dreadnought following up on erroneous intelligence about the place being a camouflaged Peacekeeper Gammak base, bombed and obliterated from space the structure and all of its frozen-in time inhabitants.  
  
   
The end.


End file.
